


Memories Of You

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Community: hd_seasons, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco is injured and forgets their life together, Harry is willing to do anything he can to bring those memories back to Draco. He promised him forever, and that’s what he’s determined they’ll have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for singlemomsummer in her stocking at hd_seasons on Livejournal.
> 
> JKR owns these boys, I just like to play with them.

“I don’t remember.”

Harry felt something clutch at his gut at those words, uttered in an all too familiar drawl that he hadn’t heard in years. Draco sat in the hospital bed, one eyebrow arched, staring at him, and Harry couldn’t help but stare right back. “Draco…”

The slim blonde shuddered. “I doubt we’re on such a level of familiarity, Potter. In fact, I can’t think what you’re doing here in my room. Get me the mediwitch; I’ve a few words to say about their lack of security.”

“You don’t remember anything.” Harry’s voice was flat. Disappointed. Not quite scared, but he refused to let that show through. “What’s the last thing you remember?” He carefully didn’t address him. He couldn’t go back to calling him Malfoy, not after the ten years they’d had together, and he didn’t want to let anything more affectionate slip out right now either.

Draco’s lips pursed, eyes cast skyward as he thought. “Leaving the battle with my parents,” he finally decided. “Something about a bright flash.” His gaze narrowed. “Did one of your lot try to kill us? Was I cursed trying to save my parents?”

“No,” Harry blurted out. “You were fine. You left. You—bloody hell, Draco, it’s eleven years after that. You’ve forgotten the last decade.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I can’t figure out why this bothers you, Potter. Where’s Pansy?” His tone turned petulant, reminding Harry strongly of their Hogwarts days. “She should be here. Go tell her I need her here now to take care of me. St. Mungo’s is an awful place and I oughtn’t be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Harry said patiently.

“I’ve got you? Please,” Draco said dryly. “You can’t possibly think you’re any sort of a substitution for Pansy.”

He’d liked it well enough the night before, when Harry had been wrapped around him in their bed. And for the last ten years, since that first date.

A knock on the door pulled Harry’s attention, and he glanced over when it was opened just a wee bit. “Hey, mate, Hermione’s got someone out here anxious to—”

“Merlin, the Weasel’s here too?” Draco sneered.

Ron blinked. “What the bloody hell is he on about?” he asked Harry, not even looking at the man in the bed.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, shoving his fringe back and making the strands stick up all over. “Lost his memory, Ron.”

“Oh.” Ron’s gaze flicked from Harry to Draco, then back again. “I suppose you won’t want Scor—”

“No,” Harry cut him off quickly. “Have Hermione take him home. I’ll be following along later.”

“Right then.” Ron ducked back out the door, closing it behind him. In the waiting room beyond, Harry could hear voices raised, and the sharp sound of a displeased five year old.

Damnit. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Scor?” Draco’s glance was sly. “Always knew you were a poof, Potter. That your boyfriend?”

“Yes, I’m gay. No, he’s not my boyfriend.” Harry leveled a look at Draco. “Scorpius is our son.”

Harry didn’t give him time to recover from the shock, still speaking as he gathered up his cloak and shrugged into it. “And Pansy won’t be coming, as she’s in Italy with Blaise. They’ve been married seven years now, and she’s already had three children. Hard to imagine, but she gets more pleasant when she’s pregnant.” Harry paused at the door, considering the pale, pinched features of the man he’d thought he’d lost this morning, before he added, “So do you.”

Draco’s mouth opened. “You lying prick, Potter. I’ve never been pregnant and if I had, it would never be with your mudblood infected child.”

Harry smiled tightly. “You were. He’s ours, and he’s brilliant. And you loved every part of it.”

He left then, pulling the door closed quickly behind him, just in time as something—a shoe perhaps—thumped against it. Harry slumped there, pinching the bridge of his nose again. Memory loss. It was obvious Draco wasn’t faking it; he’d lost everything since Hogwarts. Which meant it was up to Harry to figure out how to get his Draco back.

#

Harry was surprised to find Pansy in the waiting room three days later, tapping perfectly manicured nails against the arm of her chair as she sat there, legs crossed at the ankles, waiting. She came to her feet, a fluid snakelike grace in her petite build, something she had grown into after the war. Harry could see what Blaise saw in her, and knew very well what Draco had once seen in her, even if it wasn’t something he appreciated properly himself. Her pointed chin lifted, her arms crossed, and she waited for him to come to her, rather than approaching him herself.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said quietly.

“After four owls and the most whinging howler I’ve ever received, Blaise informed me that if I didn’t go immediately, he’d strangle Draco with his own bare hands,” Pansy said, shrugging one shoulder. “So here I am. Do you know, he tried to convince me to stay there so he could put his head in my lap and have me rub his temples?”

“Didn’t you do that when you were younger?”

“When we were sixteen,” she snapped. “Not now that we’re almost thirty and married to other people. He’s being a baby, Harry. You need to fix him.”

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been coming here every day for the past three days, Pans. So far he’s thrown shoes at me, and tried to hex me.”

“That would explain his whinging about his wand being taken away,” Pansy mused.

“They didn’t much like the hole he left in the door. Even when he showed them the scars, insisting that I’d tried to kill him.”

“That was years ago.” Pansy’s expression was gentle, full of sympathy.

“He doesn’t know that.” Harry huffed a sigh. “But I think I’ve come up with the solution.” He pulled a small glass container out of his pocket, the swirling strands within it obvious. “I had to pull strings to borrow this portable Pensieve, but I’ve put every memory I could think that might do a bit of good in it. Maybe one of them will trigger something.”

“What did the healers say?” Pansy placed a small hand against Harry’s arm, fingers light and somehow sympathetic.

“That they don’t know what’s causing the memory blockage. It might be something in the curse he took, but since Shivan’s dead now, we can’t figure out what he did.” That memory was in the small container as well, but Harry refused to visit it yet. He would start at the beginning, not at the end made by someone else.

Pansy leaned in to kiss Harry on the cheek. “If anyone can bring our Draco back, it’s you. How’s Scorpius handling this?” One delicate eyebrow arched. “Should I stop in at the house?”

“He’s with Hermione right now,” Harry admitted. “He’s been happiest when he’s playing with Rose, so we’ve kept them together most of the time. He’s scared, but he won’t say a word about it. He pitched an absolute fit when we couldn’t let him see Draco that first day, and I think he thinks I’ve done something horrible with his papa. He keeps glaring at me.”

“I’ll stop over,” Pansy decided. “And perhaps I’ll bring Peony with me next visit. They’ll all have a lovely time together.”

Harry nodded, not quite sure what else to say. His gaze drifted to the waiting door, and he took a half step in that direction, waiting for some release from Pansy before he could go.

“Your mind isn’t here,” she said with a small smile. “Go to him. Heal him.”

“I hope so,” Harry muttered under his breath, and he pushed open the door and went inside.

“I can’t hex you, Potter,” Draco greeted him petulantly. “You don’t have to duck.”

“For all I know, you might’ve nicked one of the mediwitch’s wands,” Harry pointed out. He sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the shove that Draco gave him. “I’ve brought something to show you.”

Draco’s lips pursed. “I can’t think that I’d want to see anything you have to show me, Potter,” he said dryly.

“Probably not,” Harry admitted. “But you’re going to see it anyway.”

He reached up with his left hand, grabbing the back of Draco’s neck, his right hand holding the portable Pensieve securely. The Pensieve might be small, but magic helped, and somehow he was able to shove Draco’s head into it, Harry following moments later as they dove into the memory together.

#

 _”You sodding arse.” Draco glared at him. “This is abuse. You can’t do this to me. I’m in the hospital, Potter! I’ve been horribly injured and cursed and—”_

 _“Shut up, Draco, and look.” Harry gripped his shoulders and turned him. It was his own memory, so it was his perspective on events, but he hoped it would suffice._

The Harry of the memory sat watching as Draco was brought out, bound at the hands and ankles with magical chain. Draco looked thin and haggard, a faint scruff of a beard at his chin, silver eyes dull and grey. Harry waited until Draco looked up, then caught his eye, and held it, trying to send some message of hope, but Draco only looked away.

 _”I look terrible, Potter.”_

 _“This is your trial, after the war. They don’t have personal groomers in Azkaban, Draco.”_

The court droned on, listing crime after crime, while Draco seemed to carry the weight of each pronouncement anew upon his shoulders, until he slumped in his seat. The sentences for his parents were reiterated—Lucius had been sent to Azkaban for five years, and Narcissa remanded to Malfoy Manor for confinement at home for the next year. Harry had fought for both of them, reducing their sentences as much as he could manage. He’d fought for Draco as well, and was on the edge of his seat, gaze glued upon the ghost of a man as he waited to find out the result.

“In the matters of the Wizengamot versus Draco Malfoy, on all counts of the usage of Dark Magic and Unforgiveables, Draco Malfoy has been found guilty.”

Harry felt the blow as keenly as he saw Draco take it, the other boy folding in on himself on the stage. There was a small cry from elsewhere in the audience, as Pansy reached for Draco but was held back.

 _”Pansy always was my number one supporter.”_

 _“Pansy’s not the one who kept you out of Azkaban.”_

 _“I hardly think you or your lot—”_

 _“Just watch, Draco.” Harry put his hand on the back of Draco’s head, trying not to think about how it felt, and how good it was to be touching him, even as ethereal as they were here. “Watch.”_

“We have heard testimony this past week,” the member of the Wizengamot—it might have been Wick, but Harry couldn’t remember for sure—proclaimed, his voice quavering with age. “And once again, the Boy Who Lived has come forth in defense of a Malfoy. In light of this testimony, and in understanding that Draco Malfoy was not yet of age when he took the Mark, his sentence has been commuted to one of six month’s exile to his home, to be followed by a year’s service to the Wizarding Community, in activities that shall be chosen by his Officer of Parole.”

Hope. Harry watched Draco and saw him straighten slightly, saw that moment of confused hope as Draco met his gaze. He saw the questions there, and he nodded slightly.

By the time Draco was led from the room, his body was straight, still a shadow of his old arrogant self, but something more than the broken thing he had become.

 _”Why did you do that?” Draco’s expression was perplexed as they stood there in the room that was already starting to fade._

 _“You’d saved my life, Draco. No more than that, not then,” Harry admitted. “Your mother and you had helped me against Voldemort, and this was the least I could do. I tried for more, but they wouldn’t give it to me.”_

 _Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. “Because the Boy Who Saved the World couldn’t quite manage to stop saving people.”_

 _“You’re right,” Harry smiled faintly. “That’s exactly it. You needed to be saved and no one else was going to do it, so it fell to me.”_

 _The memory was almost gone, Draco’s image a mere wisp of grey, but Harry imagined he heard the words whispered in Draco’s voice._

 _“Thank you.”_

#

After Draco threw him out, pitching such a fit that the mediwitches came to remove Harry from the room, Harry stayed away for two days. When he came back, he snuck past the mediwitches and placed a silence spell on Draco’s room as he slipped inside and carefully closed the door behind him.

“I don’t want to see you, Potter.” Draco crossed his arms and turned towards the wall. “It’s your fault they won’t let me leave.”

“They won’t let you leave because your mind’s still trapped in 1998,” Harry said plainly, sitting on the edge of the bed again. “Have you been talking to the mind healer?”

“Roerig? Yes. Deucedly unpleasant man with a thick accent. Claims I have walls upon walls in my mind.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. I’ve been through a war, with the most unpleasant wizard in Britain trying to penetrate my defenses. Do you know what it feels like when Voldemort burrows into your mind?”

Harry swallowed hard. “Actually, yes. Not quite in the same way as you, but yes. I’m more than aware of what it was like to share memories with him.”

“Well then.” Draco shrugged. “You can hardly be surprised that I put up defenses against it.”

Was that what was going on here? Was Harry fighting the war all over again, trying to get through those high, bitter defenses Draco had been left with after Voldemort was gone? It gave him something to push against, at least, thinking of it in those terms, and it gave Harry hope that his methods might be the right ones.

He brought out the Pensieve, reaching out to grab Draco’s wrist when the other man went to knock it from his hand. “No,” he said quietly. “You’re going to go into this memory with me, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut this time and just watch.”

“Why should I?” Draco arched one eyebrow, and in response, Harry twisted his hand, pressing his thumb to Draco’s palm. They both looked at the splayed fingers.

“You haven’t taken your ring off,” Harry said. It was there, heavy and gold on Draco’s third finger, matching the one on Harry’s hand. “Something’s still in there, just shuttered away behind all those bloody walls, Draco. And you want to know what’s going on, don’t you? It drives you mad to think that I know more than you do. So you’ll watch. Because you’re just waiting to catch me in a lie.”

Draco snorted softly. “Already have, Potter. You’ve made it up from beginning to end.”

“Memories don’t lie, Draco.” Harry raised the glass, almost as if in toast. “Let’s see what you think of this one.”

#

 _”This is a little more than six months past your trial,” Harry murmured into Draco’s ear, even though he knew that the Harry within the memory couldn’t hear them speak. “Your house sentence ended, and you’ve been doing community service, working on the wards of St. Mungo’s. I’ve been visiting you the last several weeks, and every time you threw me out. But this time you agreed to have dinner with me after your shift ended.”_

 _“I wouldn’t.”_

 _“You did,” Harry said. “And I was terrified of it.”_

In the memory, Harry shifted from foot to foot in a nervous dance of anticipation as he waited in the lobby of St. Mungo’s. He still wore his Auror robes, having just come from training, and there was a faint scent of singed hair all about him after a minor mishap with one of Ron’s spells. But he hadn’t wanted to be late, thinking that if he was, Draco would never still be there.

Not that Draco had any idea how important this was to Harry; it was just dinner, after all. But perhaps it would be an attempt at civilized conversation. An attempt to get to know each other. A chance to unwind.

Harry couldn’t hope it would be more, no matter how much he knew that he was just as obsessed with Draco now as he had been back in their sixth year. But this time he wasn’t afraid of him, nor did he want to kill him. He wanted something else entirely that he was afraid to put into words, and that was what had him pacing as he waited.

Draco’s nose wrinkled as he came through the door, green robes over his arm. “Is that stench you, Potter?”

“Harry,” he corrected. “And it’s just a bit of burnt hair. Ron threw a spell wide and I got caught in the crossfire.”

For a moment, Harry thought he saw something in Draco’s gaze, some worry for his well-being before it was shuttered away. “Pity,” Draco drawled. “The Weasel could’ve saved me quite a bit of aggravation if he’d simply aimed better and taken you out entirely.”

Harry’s lips pursed. “If you don’t want to go to dinner, then don’t.”

“If I don’t, you’ll just ask again tomorrow.”

Which was a reasonable response, since Harry had been asking for a week already. He inclined his head, allowing Draco the point, then pulled open the door and motioned him through.

The memory dissolved for a moment in an image of Harry wrapping his arms around Draco, and the startled look in those deep silver eyes as Harry tightened his hold and twisted for apparition.

Harry had chosen a place in the Wizarding district of Surrey, and the memory reformed there with dinner already in progress. An empty bottle of wine sat on the table, with another open and half gone already beside it. Draco had a relaxed demeanor, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched as he listened to Harry tell some story that was still indistinct as the memory came into focus.

“And of course, Weasley made a complete hash of things,” Draco drawled, amusement evident. “Have you noticed how many of your stories of Auror training come down to some mistake that he’s made?”

“If you think you can do better, come be an Auror yourself,” Harry countered.

And just like that, the tension in the scene changed. Draco sat upright, back stiff, pointed chin tilted upwards defensively. “You know that isn’t an option, Potter.”

“Harry,” he said patiently, in the tone of someone who’s said it many times already that evening. “And why not? Would you want to be one if you could?”

“It would be a challenge,” Draco said, tone flat. “It wouldn’t be because I have some misguided notion of saving the Wizarding world. Nor because I feel I have to atone.”

“Of course not.” Harry leaned on the table, head cocked as he considered Draco. “But I think that if you did become a trainee, you’d have a chance of that being the rest of your community service sentence.”

“They wouldn’t take me.”

They would if Harry asked. If Harry intervened. “Want to bet?” Harry said. “If you put in an application for the trainee program, and it’s accepted… you take the position.”

“And if it’s not?” Draco’s dark gaze clearly showed that he thought Harry was wrong about this.

“Then I pay a forfeit,” Harry said. “Anything you like.”

“Do I have to decide now?”

Harry shook his head. “No. But shake to seal the deal.” He held out his hand and waited until Draco’s slim fingers clasped his. They both stayed there like that, hands clasped across the table, Harry watching for some chink in Draco’s armour.

Draco moved first to release Harry, but he pulled back slowly, looking unsettled as he reached for his drink. “I need to get home. Mother will be worried.”

“I’ll accompany you. We’ve had enough to drink that we oughtn’t apparate.” Harry stood, waiting for Draco. “I’ll walk with you to the public Floo.”

There was silence as they walked through the night, occasionally stumbling, one reaching out to help right the other, until they reached the Floo. There was no one else about, and Harry fumbled for the coins necessary to activate it. Once he put them in—enough for two trips—they waited for the flames to come to life.

“I’ll bring by the Auror application tomorrow,” Harry said.

“You’re not going to forget that, are you?”

“Afraid?” Harry dared him.

“You wish.” Draco smirked. “Be careful what you wish for, Potter, because I can be the best damned Auror they’ve ever seen.”

It was the light in Draco’s eyes that did him in. Harry had seen faint flickers of it, reminding him that Draco was still Draco, infuriating and arrogant, but this was the first time he’d seen it in full force since the war. And he was too drunk on good wine to resist the impulse, catching Draco by the shoulders and leaning in to kiss him.

Draco’s mouth was slack beneath his at first, but as Harry teased him, tongue stroking over his lips, Draco’s mouth opened in surprise, allowing him entrance and kissing him back. It was perfect. Everything Harry had been imagining these past few months and perhaps more, as Draco responded hungrily, leaning into him.

Right up until Draco wrenched away, shoving at Harry’s chest. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Draco snarled. “I’m not a poof like you, and even if I were, I wouldn’t consider a son of a mudblood like you worth my time.”

Cold seeped in as Harry stood there, watching Draco duck into the Floo. Harry was still standing there as the flames fell, and the memory started to fade.

#

Harry was still reeling from the remembered shove as they resurfaced from the memory and Draco did it again, pushing him off the bed and onto the floor, leaving Harry juggling the delicate Pensieve.

“That didn’t happen,” Draco snarled. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” Harry responded quietly. “And you did it again. And you enjoyed it. And you did become an Auror, one of the best we’ve got. You were my partner in all ways, Draco.”

“You’re lying.” Draco touched a spot on the wall and bells sounded outside the room, the spell singing out his distress until a mediwitch scurried in. “Take him out,” he ordered petulantly, turning to face the wall. “I don’t want him here again.”

“Mr. Malfoy—”

“Out!” Draco ordered.

“It’s all right, I’ll go.” Harry came to his feet slowly. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Draco.”

“Don’t bother.”

But he had to. Harry couldn’t leave things like that, with this desperate feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Pensieve held the memories of their life together. He had to make Draco see that, else he really would be gone, just as much as if the spell had killed him outright.

#

The next day when Harry went to visit, a mediwitch stopped him before he could go in. Draco hadn’t slept well the night before and was cranky, and they didn’t want to risk either his health or Harry’s by allowing him to see his husband. The day after that, the door was slammed in his face as soon as he opened it, and he realized that Draco didn’t necessarily need a wand to cause trouble.

The third day he arrived while Draco was sleeping.

He came in under cover of his invisibility cloak, slipping past the healers and waiting until he saw a mediwitch coming out of Draco’s room so that he could sneak in. He settled into the chair in the opposite corner of the room from the bed, drawing his feet up, making sure he fit everything under the cloak. It looked as if Draco were asleep, which let Harry simply observe him.

He was so much the man that Harry remembered, and yet, there was something fitful in his sleep. Something that reminded Harry again of when they had just started out, when one of them would have dreams wracked by nightmares, and waken to the other smoothing back hair, stroking skin, kissing until the nightmares slipped away.

Harry itched to do that for Draco now, to smooth out the furrow that knit his brow even in sleep. Just to touch him without being yelled at or pushed away.

He missed his husband, and Scorpius missed his father. The distraction of time with Peony and Rose was diminishing over time, and the temper tantrums each time he was denied the ability to see Draco grew stronger. Scorpius had magic—strong magic—already, and the state of the Potter-Malfoy household at the moment confirmed it. Walls were spattered with strange colours, and Harry couldn’t keep the place clean after the small windstorms that spun up with every fit of temper.

He realized that the soft sounds of breath had changed, growing shorter, less even, and he glanced over at the bed. Draco was staring at him, almost as if he could see him.

“I know you’re there, Potter, under that dratted invisibility cloak,” Draco muttered. “There’s no point in hiding.”

Harry shrugged the cloak up, folding it in a silken bundle on the chair before he walked over to sink into his accustomed spot on the bed. “How did you know?”

“I just knew.” And Draco sounded bothered by that fact. He pushed himself to sit up in the bed, and Harry realized that Draco had made an effort to be presentable today, his hair mussed faintly by sleep but smelling sweet and clean. And he wasn’t wearing St. Mungo’s issued clothes, but his own trousers and shirt that Harry had sent over.

Draco caught Harry staring and glared back at him. “It isn’t for you. I can’t abide being filthy. Or those ridiculous gowns.”

“Of course.” Harry caught himself before the word _love_ slipped out, and before he reached out to touch Draco’s hand. But he saw Draco’s gaze drop to where Harry’s fingers rested, not far from Draco’s own. “You didn’t look like you were sleeping well.”

“I’ve slept horribly the last few days,” Draco snapped. “And it’s all your fault, Potter. Feeding those lies into my mind.”

“They aren’t lies,” Harry said. “And I’ve come to show you more.”

Draco crossed his arms and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Of course you have.”

Harry brought out the Pensieve, noting how it caught Draco’s attention, how he shifted and moved so he could look into it. Instead of grabbing his head, this time Harry took Draco’s hand, cautiously winding their fingers together. “I’ve put a few memories in this time,” he said, and was cautiously hopeful when Draco voluntarily followed him inside.

#

The memory came into resolution mid-scene, Harry on his knees, head bowed, pulse pounding. A cursed zinged by overhead, and he heard a shout of anger—Ron firing back. Harry’s arm already ached, hanging useless by his side, caught by a hex, then caught again when he couldn’t get out of the way fast enough because of the pain. He was helpless, knees bound tight together in a leg-locker. He just had to hope no one found him.

 _”I’m around the corner.”_

 _Harry glanced over at Draco’s hushed whisper, seeing that the other man stared intently at the memory, his hand clutching Harry’s. “Yes, you are,” he confirmed. “Do you remember this?”_

 _“I dreamed it last night.” A small pause, Draco’s voice low. “I saw you go down, and I couldn’t tell whether you were alive or dead. I couldn’t get to you. I was afraid.”_

 _Hope bloomed, making Harry’s breath catch. Maybe this was working after all._

Another curse zinged by and Harry tilted over, falling to lie on the ground instead of kneel, trying to make himself as small as the curses would allow. He could barely breathe, crying out when an errant hex caught his foot, and it felt like it was on fire.

Silence fell abruptly, then there were footsteps, and Draco dropped to his knees beside him. “Don’t you bloody well die on me now, Potter,” he snapped. “You’re the Boy Who Lived Despite Better Efforts.”

“I’m not dying,” Harry managed to say. Draco’s hands were moving over his body, checking everywhere, and Harry found it arousing and comforting all at once. “Just cursed.”

“Where does it hurt?” Draco asked.

“Everywhere,” Harry admitted.

“Here?” Draco brushed a light kiss against his lips. Harry smiled, knowing Draco had no idea how that echoed a Muggle film and resolving to share it with him another time.

“That seems safe,” he allowed, content when Draco did it again and again, until Ron cleared his throat in the background and reminded them that cleanup was coming, and they ought to get Harry back to be checked out.

Harry wanted to protest that he was fine where he was; Draco took the pain away for that moment, at least. But he knew Ron was right.

The memory faded and slipped into something else: Draco sitting alone on the bench in the Auror locker room, head in his hands, breathing ragged. He was alone, and the hitch in his breath said clearly that he was crying.

 _”This isn’t mine.” Harry wasn’t in this memory, he hadn’t put it in the Pensieve. The part right after, that was his, but not this._

 _“I dreamed this too,” Draco said softly. “But I never cried over you, Potter. I wouldn’t.”_

 _But Harry knew what came next, and he knew Draco was wrong._

The door to the locker room opened and Draco looked up, startled, pale skin red and blotchy from the tears. He pushed to his feet, a snarl twisting his lips until he saw that it was Harry. The two men paused, staring at each other for a long moment, Harry uncertain about his reception. Unsure, he went to his locker and started stowing his things and changing back into normal clothes.

“You seem to be all right, Potter,” Draco observed.

“You kissed me in front of Ron, Draco. The secret’s out.” Harry smiled slightly at the locker door. “You might as well call me Harry in public now.”

Draco leaned against his own locker, right next to Harry’s, tension in his stance despite the careful attempt to be casual. “I’m sure the Weasel had plenty to say about it, too.”

“His name’s Ron, and you ought to learn it, since he’s promised not to call you Ferret anymore,” Harry said. He closed the locker door and looked at Draco, voice dropping low. “I just want you to know that I’m all right with this. Folks knowing. You were the one that wanted to keep it secret.”

“I thought you’d died.”

Harry heard the hitch in Draco’s voice, saw the reflection of tears in the red skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” Harry assured him. He leaned in, cupping Draco’s head, kissing him gently, groaning at the hunger that came back.

He pressed Draco back against the lockers, fitting hips to hips, swaying into him and going with the pull as Draco tried to drag him closer. Clothes slid off their body in the fluid way dreams have, until they were naked and Harry held Draco up, legs crooked around his waist, pounding into him against the lockers.

In the aftermath, Harry cradled Draco close, kissing dampness from his cheek, not wanting to let go. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated, murmuring against his skin.

“Is that a promise?”

Harry heard the petulant note in Draco’s voice and knew it for what it was in this situation: fear. “It’s a promise,” he assured him. “We have a lifetime ahead of us. You and me, forever.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Potter,” Draco said, arching one eyebrow. The haughty expression was somewhat ruined by the flush to his naked skin, and the way he couldn’t seem to stop touching Harry, threatening to renew their passion all over again.

“Good. I’ll hold you to the same.” Harry kissed Draco then, sealing their promise. “And it’s Harry.”

“Harry,” Draco breathed, the name on his tongue like a prayer or a vow as the memory dissolved into a swirl of nothing.

#

Draco sat hunched over on the bed, not even seeming to notice Harry’s hand on his back. “You need to go,” Draco said hoarsely.

“It’s all true, Draco,” Harry said quietly. “And that was years ago. It’s only been better since then.”

“Go!” The shout rang off the walls, and Harry flinched back. The memories were too close, too raw to feel right about Draco pushing him away like this.

“You know I’ll be back.” Harry stood, but didn’t move away yet. “I promised you, we’ll have forever. And more importantly, you promised me. I’m not going to let you go now.”

“I know.” Draco sounded defeated, a whine slipping into his tone again. “But right now, just go, Potter.”

Harry’s jaw set, and he crossed his arms. “Harry.”

“Fine,” Draco snapped. “Harry.”

And that made Harry smile. He knew Draco, knew him well enough that he would never say that if he weren’t starting to believe. Or at least wonder. He was gaining ground, slow but sure.

“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll go. Just let me know when you’re ready for me to come back.”

#

For all that he’d said to contact him, Harry was still surprised when he received an owl from Draco two days later.

 _ ~~Potter~~ Harry,_

 _So tell me, how, exactly, did we come to have a son? And spare me the magical details; I’m well aware of the biology of a pureblood male of clean ancestry._

 _- ~~Malfoy~~ D. M._

Harry chose the memories carefully, placing them gently in the Pensieve. These were among his most precious. Those nine months had marked even more change in his relationship with Draco, cementing what they had and turning them from lovers into a true family.

When he arrived at St. Mungo’s, Draco sat in the chair rather than the bed, his legs crossed, expression thoughtful as he read. Harry frowned to see the files spread across the bed. “Are you working?” he asked. Harry couldn’t see how that was possible, with Draco’s memories still gone.

“Weasley thought it might bring something back, looking at my old cases,” Draco murmured, turning the page.

Weasley, not Weasel, Harry noted, taking that as a small gain. “Is it helping?”

“Not as much as he’d obviously hoped.” Draco closed the file and set it aside, folding his hands together. “I take it you received my owl? And hurried right over, I see. How romantic.”

Harry grinned, despite the sardonic tone. “You asked a question that I’m happy to answer. From the way you phrased it, I take it you can understand why you carried our son?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Your blood is hardly pure. Mine is impeccable. Thus, the chance of myself being able to get pregnant is far increased over yours.” He paused, then added more quietly, “And every dream I have had involves you shagging me, and not the inverse. I assumed that plays a part as well.”

“They’re just dreams still?” Harry summoned the other chair, setting it next to Draco’s. “Not memories? What’s the difference?”

Draco’s lips pursed. “They feel remote. I watch, but that’s all it is: watching. There is a sense of urgency while I am in the dream, and lingering emotion when they are done. But they do not feel true any more than seeing your memories feels as if I experienced them myself.”

“It’s still something.”

“If you say so.” Draco frowned. “And Scorpius?”

“Was an accident,” Harry admitted. “I wasn’t raised pureblood, remember? So I’ve never been the best at remembering contraception charms at the best of times. The idea of you being able to get pregnant seemed unreal.”

“Just show me the memory.” Draco’s gaze was fixed on the Pensieve in Harry’s hand, expression anticipatory, almost hungry. When Harry reached for his hand, Draco didn’t hesitate, simply held on and leapt, pulling Harry with him into the memories.

#

 _”That’s the manor. Did Mother accept you?”_

 _Harry had to smile at that. “Surprisingly, yes, although moreso after Scorpius’ birth. This is the day your father was released from Azkaban.”_

It had been meant to be a simple gathering: close friends, family, and of course, Draco had brought Harry, against his mother’s better wishes. But Harry understood why, as he stood by his lover, their hands clasped, giving Draco an anchor in a sea of emotion. He watched as Draco clasped his father firmly, held him, kissed his cheek before he stepped away and back into the protective circle of Harry’s arms.

Lucius seemed smaller than Harry remembered, thin and stooped, shaggy from his tenure in Azkaban. But there was still a sharp light in his eyes as he looked at Harry, and Harry refused to look away. Lucius Malfoy had scared him once, but no more. He had fought to keep him from being executed, and fought to keep his sentence as short as possible. And now that he was released, Harry stood here to celebrate it, for Draco’s sake.

Lucius surprised him, saying a quiet, “Thank you,” before he chose to ignore the boys.

Draco took that as their chance to slip away, through the French doors and out into the gardens. The night was still warm, and the sound of the party receded as they walked away. Draco managed to hold himself together until they reached the bench under the willow tree. When he sank down onto it, a choked sob slipped free. Harry put an arm around him, pulling him in, hand clasping the nape of his neck.

 _”Tell me, Harry, why is it that you keep showing memories of me crying? I’m not like that.”_

 _“No, you’re one of the strongest men I know,” Harry said quietly, holding onto his Draco as they watched the memory. “But when you lose control like that, and let me see it, I treasure that step inside your walls. And besides, when you cry, I always shag you until you’re smiling again.”_

 _“Oh, I see. We are cast as voyeurs.”_

 _“We were talking about Scorpius, remember?” Harry smiled, because any story involving the conception of a child would have to, at some point, involve a shag._

It was nothing like the time in the Aurors’ locker room. This was slow and sensual, cautious and loving. Harry teased Draco until he cried out, and they had to cast a muffling charm to keep privacy. Harry spread his robes on the bench and laid back, Draco lowering himself carefully onto Harry. Slow. Quiet. Confirming everything that they were to each other, and everything they needed.

Harry felt the energy building around them, an almost glow surrounding them as they came together, giving and taking in slow nips and licks, teasing touches that let them rise almost to the edge, then pausing until the fell back just enough that they could climb to the precipice again. When they finally found release, it was together, Draco’s body bowed, Harry’s mouth at his throat.

“I love you.”

Harry heard the words and felt his heart stop. He threaded his fingers into Draco’s hair and gathered in a shuddering breath before he kissed him.

“Did you hear me?” Draco asked as soon as the kiss broke, pushing at Harry’s chest. “I said—”

“I love you, too,” Harry interrupted him. “Of course I do, you miserable arrogant prick.” He stood, lifting them both easily and laying Draco back out on the bench beneath him. “And that might just be the hottest thing you have ever said to me. Which means I am about to shag you into this bench.”

“You can try.” Draco’s fingers gripped Harry roughly, pulling him closer.

 _”You really are a voyeur. And we apparently are insatiable.”_

 _“Something like that.” Harry lifted his hand, touching Draco’s shoulder lightly. “I don’t know which of those times it was, but that’s when Scorpius was conceived. You and me, and the first time you told me you loved me. Given how powerful he is already, there’s some guess that we exchanged quite a lot of magic that night, and much of it went into him.”_

 _Draco nodded. He glanced back at Harry, something wanting still in his expression. “Is there more?”_

 _“Some bits and pieces. Some of this might be a little fragmented.”_

The memories rolled through in quick succession, simple small scenes and fragments from Draco’s pregnancy.

…Harry lay on their bed, his head resting against Draco’s barely swelling abdomen, as if trying to hear the child inside. He turned, pressing a kiss to his belly, murmuring unheard words while Draco rolled his eyes and smirked…

…Draco sat in the chair, trying to lean down to pull on his boots. When Harry knelt in front of him, Draco tried to knock his hands away, but Harry silenced him with a, “Hush, you git,” and helped him anyway. He pulled Draco forward for a kiss after, hands pressed against the swollen stomach. “That’s my child in there, too. Helping you is the least I can do.” Draco made a haughty noise…

…Harry held an animated conversation with Draco’s belly while Draco reclined, watching with an amused expression. Harry held up a picture book of Quidditch, as if the child inside could somehow see while he read aloud. Draco’s fingers drifted idly, affectionately, through Harry’s hair…

…Draco and Harry stood in the gardens of the Manor house, near the bench under the willow tree, and spoke their vows solemnly before family and friends. Harry curled his fingers around the ring once it was slipped on, then put Draco’s on his finger and raised it to his lips to kiss. When he tried to kiss his new husband, their child chose that moment to kick, pressing back against Harry until he had to laugh…

…The screams were miserable, driving Harry insane as he paced outside the room. Draco had thrown him out an hour before, and he was waiting, begging every few minutes to be allowed back in. When he was, he caught Draco’s hand, heard his husband’s whispered apology, and held on as Draco pushed again. An hour later, he stroked the fine blond hair of his son as Scorpius lay across Draco’s sweat-damp chest…

…The small blond boy, his face so obviously Draco’s, but with Harry’s bright green eyes leaned forward, blowing out five candles on a birthday cake, then the larger central one while his fathers cheered…

 _”That’s it? Show me more,” Draco demanded._

 _“That’s all I brought.”_

#

The memories faded, returning them to the present. Harry’s hand ached from how hard Draco clasped it, and he shook it quietly as soon as it was released.

“You have to bring more next time,” Draco demanded. “I want to see more of our son.”

Our son. Harry’s breath caught at the words. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “You have to remember it yourself.”

Draco stood, arms crossed, pointed chin lifted as he glared down at Harry. “And when I do?”

Harry stood, not at all worried by the posturing. “When you do, I’ll be able to take you home again. Where you belong. Where _we_ belong. All three of us, together.”

A slow breath in and out before Draco blinked. “I’ve cases to read. Unless you’ve something else useful to do with yourself here, it might be best if you leave.”

Harry leaned in a stole a quick kiss, backing up before Draco could react. “You know I’ll be back.”

It might have been resignation, but it might also have been hope that tinged Draco’s voice when he replied, “I know.”

#

Two days later, in the midst of having dinner with Scorpius, an owl arrived. It was unaddressed, and unsigned, but Harry knew the handwriting as well as his own.

 _The curse was yellow, was it not? With a scent of poppies. Bring the hexbane when you next visit._

Draco had his own nightmares, but this was Harry’s. Almost every night, seeing that yellow flash, aimed directly at himself. Feeling a body strike his, pushing him out of the way, then go limp on top of him, the thick scent of poppies filling the air.

But he hadn’t told Draco, and he’d made certain that Ron wouldn’t bring that particular case file to him.

Which meant that Draco had remembered something.

“Scorpius, I’m going to need you to be particularly good this evening,” he murmured. “And if you are, there’s a chance you might get to see Papa.”

The boy blinked bright green eyes. “You’re going to bring him home?”

“We’re going to him now, and yes, if all goes well, maybe we’ll be able to bring him home. But you’ll need to sit quietly and play for a while.” Harry cleaned up the table by sending the dishes to the sink to be washed later, then started gathering portable toys together that might work as a distraction for Scorpius for a time. “Can you put on your pyjamas before we go? Then if you’re tired, you can sleep for a bit.”

“I’m not sleeping until we bring Papa home,” the boy said determinedly. “If you won’t, then I will.”

Harry kissed his son’s forehead. “Of course you will. Go on, get ready. We need to go.”

They arrived at the hospital to find Draco out of his room and pacing the waiting room of the ward. Draco stopped when he saw them both, going absolutely still when Scorpius barreled into him, wrapping his arms around his legs and holding on tight. Draco’s hand fell to stroke that fine pale hair, his expression confused and wanting. “Scorpius,” he murmured.

“We’re taking you home with us, Papa. Daddy hasn’t brought you yet, so I’ve come to get you,” Scorpius assured him. “I’m not going to leave you here.”

“I hope so,” Draco said quietly. He crouched down to his son’s height, pulling Scorpius in for a hug, kissing him on the cheek.

“Scorpius,” Harry called, putting Scorpius’ things in the corner and making arrangements for one of the medwitches to keep an eye on him. “Papa and I need to talk for a bit. Then we’ll hopefully take him home.”

“Not _hopefully_ ,” Scorpius said firmly. “We will.”

Harry saw him settled, then joined Draco where he stood off to one side, watching. “Did you remember him then?” he asked softly, heart falling when Draco shook his head.

“No,” Draco murmured back. “But I want to.”

#

In Draco’s rooms, notes were spread out over the bed, all hurriedly written in Draco’s script. “I’ve been working with my dreams,” Draco said, tone matter-of-fact. “After the evidence of sharing memories with you, it seems that my dreams are also true memories, no matter how remote they might seem. Thus, the clue to what happened lies within those dreams. It was a simple matter to hone my skill at lucid dreams, using them much like a Pensieve in order to see the facts.”

“I should have thought of that.” Harry looked at the papers, but it was so much gibberish to him. He had always been the partner of action, while Draco handled the research. It was one of the things that made them work so well together in the field.

Draco gave him a mild look. “Your memory likely wouldn’t have sufficed. You barely noticed the spell at the time, and your memories tend to be tinged more with emotion than fact. I needed to access my own view of the situation in order to tease out the details.”

He was so like the Draco that Harry remembered: gently teasing, mildly arrogant. “If I didn’t think you might still want to throw me out after, I’d kiss you right now,” Harry told him.

Draco stilled, papers in his hands, glancing back at him. “I wouldn’t throw you out.”

Harry took that as an invitation, stepping close and palming the nape of his neck. He found Draco’s mouth with his own, first just a gentle press of lips to lips. He tasted familiar and known, and Harry couldn’t resist, tongue sneaking out to tease his mouth open and explore inside. He heard the low moan, felt that moment of Draco’s acquiescence, and he took advantage of it with his other hand at the small of his back, pulling him closer, fitting them tight together the way they had always been meant to be.

It wasn’t quite the same. That sense of a decade together was missing. There was an almost hesitancy from Draco as he nipped Harry’s lip, and when Harry groaned did it again, as if learning him again for the first time.

A new first kiss.

When it broke, Harry was shaking, heart hammering in his chest. “Draco,” he murmured.

Draco turned away, twisting from Harry’s arms. He picked up a pile of papers and shoved them at Harry. “Take these to the healers along with the hexbane. It ought to take about two hours to brew a proper potion, and it might take up to an hour for it take effect after that. Don’t come back until I say to.”

Harry cradled the papers like they were precious, and perhaps they were if they contained the secret to unlocking his husband’s mind again. “I could wait with you,” he offered.

Draco shook his head. “No. That—” Words failed him, and he shook his head again, a small wry smile twisting his lips. “It was like tasting just the glimpse of what was possible. I know you’re not lying, Harry. And while doing it all again for the first time might sound attractive to you, it’s merely frustrating for me, like grasping for something that I know is just out of reach. I want my mind back.”

Harry nodded. “Two or three hours then. I’ll be back.”

The smile that Draco gave him warmed his heart, as Draco murmured, “I know.”

#

It was nearly impossible to be patient for three hours. Harry played with his son until Scorpius started yawning and Harry tucked him into a makeshift bed of chairs and watched him fall asleep. He had owled Ron and Hermione to let them know what was happening, and Ron popped in for a bit to offer his hopes that the git would be fine. He wasn’t able to stay long, however, and after a few hands of cards he was gone. Which left Harry to pacing.

It reminded him of when Scorpius was born, after Draco had thrown him from the room, while waiting for his husband to call him back. And it seemed just as important as it had back then, but unlike then, it didn’t end when Harry thought it would. Two hours passed, then three, then onto four and five and still he waited, alone. Harry slumped in an uncomfortable chair, one hand resting on his son’s leg as his eyes closed and he started to doze.

 _“I give you this ring like I gave you my heart.”_

 _The soft murmur didn’t quite wake Harry, caught on the edge of a dream, seeing the memory of Draco standing before him in dress robes, hair slicked back, light in his grey eyes as the sun bore down on them. The willow tree behind him cast shadows that danced and reminded Harry of the last time he had seen it, loving Draco beneath its branches. And Draco smiled, as if caught in the same memory._

 _“For all our yesterdays,” Draco murmured, fingers stroking against the back of Harry’s hand. “For all our tomorrows. For everything we have now and everything we will be. For all the memories of you that I hold dear: I give you forever.”_

Harry woke with a start at the press of lips against his own. He leaned forward, reaching out, grasping for that familiarity and falling into the hungry kiss. His arms went around the slender man who sat across his knees, drinking him in, loving every touch. The way Draco’s fingers skimmed across his collarbone, seeking out tender spots with his mouth trailing after until Harry moaned.

Harry heard his voice again, repeating the words of their vows, and he clasped Draco’s hand, thumb sliding over the ring. “You remembered,” he said hoarsely.

“For all the memories of you that I hold dear,” Draco said quietly. “I remembered.” He leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder, almost boneless as he relaxed there. “You didn’t leave me.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“Papa?” Scorpius sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and blinking into the light of the waiting room. His small face lit up. “Hullo, Papa. Are we taking you home now?”

Draco held out his arms, and Scorpius scrambled up to join him, making Harry grunt from the pressure of having both of them in his lap, then laugh as they both held onto their son.

“Yes, Scorpius,” Draco said, kissing his son’s forehead, then his husband once more. “We’re going home.”


End file.
